


Lavender in Cut Glass

by thecutteralicia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Physical Abuse, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecutteralicia/pseuds/thecutteralicia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pain reaches the heart with electrical speed, but truth moves to the heart as slowly as a glacier." -Barbara Kingsolver</p>
<p>The pain, the truth, and Mycroft's memories of his mother.</p>
<p>(Thanks to BeautifulFic for the beta read.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavender in Cut Glass

These are the things Mycroft remembers about his mother:

The scent of lavender as he rested his head against her shoulder.

Her bare feet as she played the cello in the lounge with her old friends from the orchestra.

When she leaned over and gave him Eskimo kisses as she tucked him into bed.

Careening down a snow-covered hill with her legs wrapped around him, Sherlock sitting in her lap and all three of them laughing, crowded in that little green sled.

The times she hugged him and said, "Darling, you make me so very happy, do you know that?"

***

These are the things Mycroft remembers about his mother:

The way her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his upper arm and the pale bruises they left behind.

Her face when she stood him in front of the mirror and told him to look at himself and asked him, “Why are you _like this?_ ”

The stinging of his scalp when she pulled his hair.

The times she told him, "You don't want me to be happy."

***

As adults, Sherlock rarely spoke to Mycroft about their mother. Mycroft spoke of her frequently. "Have you spoken to Mummy?" "Mummy wants you to phone her." "A visit would be nice, Sherlock." "Mummy isn't well, Sherlock, you need to visit."

Sherlock rarely called or visited and was rewarded for it with kind words and wistful looks. Mycroft visited, faithfully, but his presence was always lacking and he always came at the wrong time. Her questions about Sherlock were shrouded in implicit blame. While Sherlock’s absence conferred benediction on his character, Mycroft’s presence allowed for numerous and monotonous sins. When he brought sweets or biscuits, they were the incorrect brand. He put too much milk in the tea, and the tea was too cold besides.

Mycroft always smiled joylessly as he listened to the latest litany of his faults, because isn’t that what good English boys did when they looked after their elderly mothers?

***

He was eight years old when she locked him in the pantry for the first time. He does not remember why, and of course he can't ask her now. (He made tentative mention of it once, as an adult. “Oh, you always were so dramatic,” she said.)

Mycroft remembers the thick darkness, though, and the nauseating smell of cinnamon and onions mingled together.

He remembers sitting on the floor, hugging his knees, heaving thick, wet sighs.

He remembers being embarrassed when she finally opened the door, hours later, because he had wet himself.

But then she put her arms around him and told him it was okay, and gave him a bath, and as she washed him he told her he was very, very sorry, because he didn't mean to be so very wrong.

"I know, love," Mummy said, and beamed at him.

His apology was not enough the next time.

***

At the funeral, he and Sherlock stood shoulder to shoulder and accepted quiet condolences from the dwindling circle of relatives and old friends. Their mother had lived to age 76 and her world had grown very small indeed. When it was over, Mycroft asked Sherlock to stay the night at the family home. To his surprise, Sherlock agreed.

He also asked Sherlock to help him clear out Mummy's things. "There might be something you want to keep."

Sherlock scoffed. "Do what you want. I don't want anything of hers."

So Mycroft found himself alone, packing away her trinkets and valuables. He thought he might put the stuff in the attic. The house was his now.

When he got to the last box, Mycroft realized that he should take something for himself, for sentiment's sake. Then he noticed the antique bottle of lavender water on the dresser. It was almost empty. He sealed the box and left it with the others for the handyman to cart up to the attic.

There were seven bedrooms in the house and Mycroft preferred any of the six he hadn’t lived in as a child. That night, he chose the room which had been nearest his mother’s. He placed the nearly empty bottle on the nightstand and the smell quickly permeated the room.

Days after returning to London, he thought he could still smell it on his clothes.

***

In his mind, this is what Mycroft sees:

_When she frowned at him and told him that he was nothing, and nothing good, and why did he make her say such horrible things?_

_When she smiled at him and told him how much she loved him, of course she did, mummies don’t lie, now do they?_

And Mycroft wonders, sometimes, what Sherlock remembers.


End file.
